Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 85167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Read Online Books/Novels: | Brave & Beautiful (Sassy Boyz #3) |
|---|---|
Author/Writer of Book/Novel: | Elizabeth Varlet |
| Language: | English |
| ISBN/ ASIN: | 1488079188 (ISBN13: 9781488079184) |
| Book Information: | |
Sexy, seductive and hiding dark secrets, the Sassy Boyz return to the stage in Brave & Beautiful There’s only one relationship that matters to Tameron "Tam" Kis—his love affair with dance. Life’s been pretty shitty, but dance got him through it and now he’s ready to focus on what he loves. He doesn’t have the bandwidth for any distractions—especially not his sexy, not-quite-straight new neighbor. Driver Ellis doesn’t need anything but his bike and the open road. He wouldn’t trade his drifter lifestyle for anything…until his friend calls in a favor and Driver suddenly finds himself pet-sitting. Driver isn’t thrilled being stuck in one place, though things start to look up when he sets eyes on the gorgeous girl next door. There’s just one problem… She isn’t a girl at all. All it takes is one spontaneous dance to turn both Driver's and Tam’s worlds upside down. They might not have been looking for love, but as things heat up between them, it’s clear life has very different plans. | |
| Books in Series: | Sassy Boyz Series by Elizabeth Varlet |
| Books by Author: | Elizabeth Varlet Books |
Chapter One
“How long will you stick around this time?” Brandon asked as he counted the day’s take from the cash register. The bills made flick-flick sounds as they hit the pile.
Driver picked up the last stool and put it upside down on the bar, without meeting his friend’s gaze. He hated that question. “I don’t know, Harrison is away for a month. Why?”
Every light was off except the two fluorescents overhead, but the colorful vibe of Stage Left couldn’t be dimmed. Broadway posters and theatrical colors melded with the old oak and classic brass to make Stage Left the ultimate theater pub. It was the place to sing with a chorus and unwind with headliners and crew alike. Brandon worked hard to keep it that way. After chasing out the final straggler, they’d locked the doors. Without all the creative energy filling it up, the place felt too quiet.
Brandon shifted on his feet but kept his eyes on the money as he continued the tally. “Kinda nice not having to do all this shit by myself for once.”
“And here I thought you missed me. All you want is slave labor.”
“Slaves don’t get a cut of the profits,” Brandon said, pushing a small stack of bills toward him. “If you’d commit to six months I could put you on the books and even get you benefits.”
Driver shuddered dramatically. “Fuck, but that sounds a lot like adulting.” He picked up the money and counted his share. Close to five hundred bucks for one night of bartending, on a weekday no less? He might have been out of the game a while, but that seemed high. He eyed Brandon. “I’m not a fucking charity case.”
“You earned it, fucker. Take it and shut up.”
Driver stuffed the stack of fifties into his pocket. “Thanks. And thanks for picking up the phone when I called.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“I haven’t exactly been the greatest friend lately.” Driver grabbed a discarded rag and began wiping down surfaces that had already been cleaned.
“True, you kind of suck.”
“Hey!” He threw the cloth at his friend, who caught it.
“Harsh but true.” Brandon tossed the damp rag back. “But, I’m a saint, so...”
“Yeah, Saint Brando, all fucking heart.”
Brandon laughed. “Think I could get a plaque?”
“Seriously though, thanks.” Driver had lost too many friends over the years, but the bond between him, Brandon, and Harrison ran deep like the roots of the old oak they used to climb.
“You’d do the same for me or Harrison.” Brandon walked into his office to stash the rest of the cash in a wall safe, and Driver followed. “Want to crash here?”
“Nah, I gotta get back to feed Michelangelo. Plus, I stink like a beer-soaked ashtray. I’m gonna take advantage of the obscene hour and do some laundry.” Driver grabbed his helmet from behind the bar.
“All right, see you tomorrow?” Hesitant.
Apprehension tightened Driver’s core. This floating from couch to couch and job to job shit took its toll. And not always on him. He’d gotten used to the uncertainty—the freedom. But his friendships suffered. Those few he had left were more precious than gold.
Still, he looked into his friend’s eyes and answered the way he always had before. “No promises.”
Brandon sighed. “Right, can’t cage the bird.”
“Don’t start.”
Together they crossed to the front doors. “I’m just saying, some people find it comforting to have a home to come back to.”
“I can’t.”
“You could.”
Tension hunched Driver’s shoulders and clenched his jaw, because he knew what Brandon would say next.
“Have you called them yet?” Brandon asked, predictable as the fucking sun.
It wasn’t like he was avoiding his grandparents—much. He’d just arrived in the city that morning. He hadn’t had time to call them. His silence was all the answer Brandon needed to get on his case.
“Shit, D, they’re your family.”
“I will.”
“Sure.” Like he didn’t believe it. Like he knew exactly what Driver was thinking even though he couldn’t. He might have been there but he hadn’t lived it.
“Fuck you, I said I will.”
Brandon unlocked the door and held it open. “I’ll see you when I see you then.”
Damn, it was cold outside. A burst of icy wind hit him in the face and he sucked in a quick breath. Driver shoved his empty hand into his jeans pocket to keep it warm. The Zippo he always carried was cold against his knuckles. He pulled it out and flicked it open. No flame sparked to life. It was long dead, but he hadn’t been able to break the habit. It reminded him why he couldn’t settle down, why he couldn’t live a normal life.
“See you when I see you,” Driver repeated.
The sharp click of the lock sounded like an exhaust backfire behind him. It was the termination of an argument they’d been having for years.
The neon billboards flashed ads and posters for the latest musical hit, casting colorful auras through the heavy fog that hung over the city. New York in early November was a special experience, early enough in the season that leaves still clung desperately to the trees, displaying their vibrant colors like badges of honor. The holidays were just around the corner and already you could feel the spirit in the air.